


so dress me in red from head to toe

by Emlee_J



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: (sort of), Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Manga Spoilers, Pro Volleyball Player Hinata Shouyou, Pro Volleyball Player Kageyama Tobio
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:48:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23456518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emlee_J/pseuds/Emlee_J
Summary: “Well too bad for you, you’repermanentlyorange, and everyone knows orange doesn’t go with red,” Kageyama spits back, irritated, and he makes a jab at Shouyou’s side where he knows he’s ticklish. As Shouyou bends over with a surprised wheeze, Kageyama spins on his heel and strips the national jersey off and up over his head, leaving Shouyou to stare at his retreating bare back with mixed emotions.Doesn’t go with red…Shouyou glances down at himself and tries to imagine his t-shirt as red as the jersey and all the things Kageyama had implied so simply, and feels heat rise to his cheeks so sharply in such an abrupt burst of embarrassed happiness that his face almost matches the national team's jersey perfectly.-In which Kageyama and Hinata get their national team jerseys, and the calls come on Thursdays.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio
Comments: 105
Kudos: 1142





	so dress me in red from head to toe

The call comes on a Thursday.

Shouyou is in the kitchen, making a drink. It’s seven o’clock in the evening, and it’s raining. He’s fresh from a shower after spending the day with his beach volleyball coach and by all the usual standards, it’s been a perfectly normal day.

Until his phone starts rattling across the countertop with an incoming call and he nearly drops his glass to the floor when he spots the name lighting up the screen.

Because Shouyou can count, on one hand, the amount of times Kageyama had physically called him. It had only been twice before now. Once, in their second year, when Shouyou had accidentally ignored a flurry of texts about their chemistry homework - because he was engrossed in an online video game with Kenma, only to finally answer his phone to “WHAT’S THE ANSWER TO NUMBER SEVEN?” booming down the line. Kageyama had been stuck on covalent bonds for at least two hours and had finally blown his lid.

Second was the day after they came home from Nationals, the third time. Shouyou had awoken at the usual hour, and gotten halfway through his morning routine when it had hit him there was no reason to leave so early, because there was no morning practice, not anymore. Not for him or the rest of the third years, at least. He’d sat there, halfway through his breakfast with the rest of his family still asleep, until his phone rang and he’d answered it without a thought.

Turns out, Kageyama was just as lost as him.

Shouyou couldn’t even tell you what they’d talked about that morning. It was a string of vague sentences and broken bits of conversation and Shouyou thinks they were both just trying to hold onto some thread of normality now that everyday life as they’d known it had come to an abrupt halt.

They’d ended the call and left the house as they usually would, as normal. And then went to the gym, as normal. Because even if they weren’t there to practice there really was no-one to stop them spiking balls across the court until the school bell rang. They were the only ones with the keys, anyway.

So when Kageyama’s name shines from his phone screen, Hinata puts his glass in the sink, scoops up his phone, checks Natsu is otherwise occupied, and then he pads down to his bedroom and closes his door with a soft click.

He swipes to accept the call and presses his phone to his ear. “Kageyama?”

This can go only two ways – either Kageyama is calling to vent his frustration because he’s gotten lost again trying to come home from practicing with the Schweiden Adlers, or he’s having another moment, like that spring morning just a few months ago.

Kageyama’s soft _“… hey”_ echoes down the line as Shouyou crosses his room and sits on his bed.

(He’d floated the idea of moving out, a week or two ago. He’s graduated high school and almost all of his friends have left home for university, but his mother had pointed out his money would be put to better use being saved for what was coming _next_ year, and not on rent. He’d been a little disappointed, at first, that independence wasn’t his just yet, but then he remembered Kageyama still lived at home even as a full-fledged professional player, and felt a little better.

Even if Kageyama’s reason was that he was just too busy to go flat hunting. And even then, Miwa was going to help him when she was done with her latest photoshoot.)

“What’s up?” Shouyou prompts, when there is no immediate ranting on the other end. He can vaguely hear the squeak of the wheels of Kageyama’s desk chair, so his friend must be at home.

“Hibarida-san called,” Kageyama says, and his voice is… odd. Controlled, like he’s trying not to burst.

“Hibarida?” Shouyou repeats, confused. His scrunches his brow as he thinks, and although the name tingles vaguely in his memory, he can’t say he remembers who that is.

“Hibarida Fuki,” Kageyama elaborates, “he’s… the coach for Japan’s national men’s volleyball team.”

Shouyou sits up straighter on the bed, and he finds himself holding his breath. Despite the rapid changes in their lives recently, it’s not as though they don’t… _see_ each other, even if it’s rare. If this was about anything other than the only scenario it _could_ be, Kageyama wouldn’t have called him. He would’ve mentioned whatever it was in person, or by text at best, but for Kageyama to actually pick up his phone it could only be-

“He invited me to join the team. The national team. As a reserve setter, maybe a pinch server,” Kageyama blurts out, all in a rush, the words tumbling over themselves.

Shouyou’s whole body freezes cold and then, as the words catch up to him, floods so warm he has to stand. “The national team?” He repeats, loud and edging on a shout, which was always unwise with Natsu just down the hall but he can’t bring himself to temper his volume. “You got on the _national team?”_

There’s a very brief pause as Kageyama blows out a breath, the air crackling over the phone speaker, before he’s confirming in a very shaky voice, “yeah.”

And that’s when Shouyou starts yelling.

He can’t help it, it’s like someone had placed a balloon in his chest and pumped it up so large that he has to scream or his lungs will pop with the pressure. He thinks Natsu pokes her head around his door to tell him to shut-up but he doesn’t, not until Kageyama starts yelling down the phone too and after a few rounds of this Shouyou eventually lets his voice die as he spins in a dizzy little circle.

He doesn’t think, in his entire life, he’s ever been this happy for another person before.

A very small part of him, that will always be there and never truly fade, is sickeningly, horribly, _seethingly_ jealous, but right now it’s very quiet. Shouyou is sure, once the evening fades into night and he’s alone in his bed he’ll bury his head in his pillow and ruminate how Kageyama, still only eighteen years old and already a regular for a top division 1 team in the V-League, has already made it to the national stage. All while Shouyou himself is in training limbo for, at the very least, the next three _years_. It doesn’t seem fair at all and yet, at the same time, the fairest thing of all.

Shouyou has had the pleasure of meeting and playing against (and with) a wide breadth of players with immense talent and skill, many of whom deserved to don that red jersey, but he doesn’t think any of them deserve it more than Kageyama does.

It’s a result, Shouyou knows, probably better than anybody, of years of incredible hard work and unimaginable dedication. And the image of Kageyama standing in a packed stadium, in the middle of the court, dressed in scarlet from head to toe, is an image he has known will be true from the moment he experienced his sets.

It occurs to him then, as he flops back onto his bed with a breathless little giggle, listening to the almost silent huffs on the other end of the line that tell him Kageyama is just as giddy as he is, that at no point has Kageyama bragged, which is, definitively, a first.

There’s no crowing, no push, no jibe, no request for Shouyou to hurry up and catch him because he’s going on ahead – it’s just Kageyama telling him what’s happened and sounding dazed and so, _so_ happy that suddenly Shouyou’s heart is squeezing up tight in his ribcage.

“Are you allowed to tell me this?” He asks suddenly, as the thought occurs to him. “Don’t they normally have to announce these things officially before you start blurting to everyone you know?”

“I’ve only told _you!”_ Kageyama contests hotly, sounding a lot more like himself, suddenly.

Shouyou freezes in place across his bedsheets. Kageyama had gotten the call, the most important call of his life, probably, and instead of calling his parents or even his sister, he decided to call _Shouyou_ instead. When he wasn’t supposed to, like he couldn’t help but break the rules just this one time just to _tell_ someone.

Rolling over, Shouyou presses a grin into the bedsheets and has to regulate his breathing so his deliriously happy giggle doesn’t echo down the phone line.

 _Don’t tell anyone else_ , he thinks, but can’t bring himself to say.

“Do you think you’ll get to go to the Olympics?” He asks instead, in lieu of something more humiliating.

“I… I don’t know! Maybe!” Kageyama flusters, and Shouyou spends the rest of the conversation asking as many embarrassing questions that he can think of (and a couple of serious ones) just to help keep the joy in his chest alive and the green eyed monster at bay for as long as possible. Because this really is _Kageyama’s_ moment, and Shouyou does not, for once, want to spoil it.

* * *

It’s a few weeks later, during a visit to Kageyama’s new flat on the outskirts of Tokyo, that Shouyou spies the box in the corner of the living room with the national team’s logo stamped across it. Curious, he pulls back the flaps while Kageyama was off attempting to make something resembling lunch (which Shouyou will have to go and rescue, inevitably, but he’s going to let him suffer through it for now), and he finds the remnants of plastic coverings and paperwork detailing clothing sizes.

“Did your jersey come?” Shouyou calls over his shoulder, unable to stop himself once he puts the pieces together.

“What?” Kageyama bellows back, sticking his head through the doorway with rice stuck to his cheeks.

Shouyou ignores this obvious fuel for teasing for a change, and repeats, “your jersey, did it come?” And he gestures vaguely behind him at the box on the floor.

Understanding dawns on Kageyama’s food sprinkled face and he shuffles, almost awkward, on the threshold. “Yeah,” he confirms.

“Can you put it on?” Shouyou blurts, before he can stop himself, and then, to cover up the embarrassment flaring up hot through him: “but maybe rub all of that rice off your face first, hamsteryama.”

Kageyama curses under his breath and swipes viciously at his face before giving Shouyou a long, curious stare. Shouyou does his best not squirm under the scrutiny, until Kageyama is satisfied and stops squinting suspiciously at him, retreating back out of the room.

It’s a bit of wait, and Shouyou is tempted to go hunting for his friend as his patience finally drains away, but then Kageyama is popping back into the room, the worn blue t-shirt he’d been wearing earlier swapped out for something more vivid.

All the air in Shouyou’s chest stops moving then, and he bites down on his lower lip, hard, as Kageyama crosses the room until he’s right in front of him – the red of the national team jersery sitting pretty against his large frame.

It doesn’t really go with the loose sweatpants that Kageyama is wearing, and it’s not quite the image Shouyou had of him lit up by stadium lights, as he stands there in his own living room looking awkward, but it’s still nothing short of perfect.

 _The red suits him_ , Shouyou thinks - it matches nicely with the inky black of his hair and makes the blue in his eyes pop. In a few strides he’s standing in front of him, and Kageyama stays remarkably still as Shouyou runs a hand over the fabric and smoothes out the creases, fingertips lingering over the logos and slogans he’s seen so many times in the pages of Volleyball Monthly.

“Turn around?” He requests, and he tries his best to ignore the curious glint in Kageyama’s eye as his friend does as he’s asked and turns around, so that the letters in bright, gleaming white spread across his back are on display.

Shouyou looks at his friend’s name, splashed across his shoulder blades, and the large number twenty below, and it takes every inch of self-control to not do or say something completely, devastatingly embarrassing; or just lose his temper entirely. The green eyed monster growls somewhere in the pit of his stomach and he fights it down to say, somewhat lamely, “it’s nice.”

Kageyama turns back around to look down at him with a raised eyebrow, reading him disconcertingly easily as he always does, and Shouyou shivers under his gaze. He’s aware he’s being more than a little bit weird. “It suits you,” he says, and then to cover up the rasp in his voice, “red is more your colour than orange.”

“You, of _all_ people, should not be saying that,” Kageyama gripes, and reaches out to rake his stupidly large hand through Shouyou’s hair, tousling it hard enough to pull the strands just so. He bats at his friend irritably, feeling the awkward atmosphere pop in favour of the usual familiar annoyance.

“It’s not _my_ fault you look bad in orange!” Shouyou protests with a whine, and then he side-steps swiftly to the left to dodge the incoming swipe from the other hand.

“Well too bad for you, you’re _permanently_ orange, and everyone knows orange doesn’t go with red,” Kageyama spits back, irritated, and he makes a jab at Shouyou’s side where he knows he’s ticklish. As Shouyou bends over with a surprised wheeze, he spins on his heels and strips the national jersey off and up over his head, leaving Shouyou to stare at his retreating bare back with mixed emotions.

_Doesn’t go with red…_

He glances down at himself and tries to imagine his shirt as red as the jersey and all the things Kageyama had implied so simply, and feels heat rise to his cheeks so sharply in such an abrupt burst of embarrassed happiness that his face almost matches the jersey perfectly.

* * *

The call comes on a Thursday.

It’s not a phone call, but a literal call – a shout of his name from down the hallways of the Sendai City Gymnasium.

Shouyou twists on his heel, dislodging Tanaka’s fingers from his hair and Daichi’s hand from his back as he turns to blink, wide-eyed, at the man at the end of the corridor.

The game against the Alders had only just ended, and Shouyou is still dizzy from the victory that thrums in his veins. His first professional game _ever_ , and they’d _won_. It was gruelling, it was four sets and it was non-stop and it was _perfect_ and Shouyou wanted it to never end. From the moment he and Kageyama clasped hands from across the net at the beginning to when they did so again after Shouyou slammed the ball home for the winning point, it had been like a dream.

He’s surprised he’s managed to break away from his team so quickly, actually, considering this was his debut match and there’s certainly more than a few obligations he has to meet. After the perfunctory thank-yous that followed the end of every game and the team debriefing, Shouyou had spun to find Kageyama, like a sun searching for their planet, only to find him a few feet away already, striding towards him.

He’d been grabbed by the wrist and tugged, with little more than a _“come on”_ and Shouyou had had no choice but to follow, stumbling after Kageyama in a daze until he was led away from the court to a quiet hallway.

(And he’s starting to wonder that the wink from Atsumu and the thumbs-up from Bokuto as he was led away with no fight from the Jackals is starting to mean that they had a hand in it all from the beginning.)

Shouyou was led to where there was a group of people he hadn’t seen in years, bright and smiling and completely unexpected. He thinks beating Kageyama in an official volleyball match for the first time is still quite possibly the best thing that’s happened to him so far, but throwing himself into the largest, warmest group hug with everyone from Karasuno is certainly pretty high up on the list.

He’s still in amongst them when he hears his name. The man down the hallway who’s called for him is someone Shouyou has seen before, but cannot place – an older gentlemen, with a strong, stocky body and a trimmed beard and a twinkle in his eye. “Hinata Shouyou,” he says, quieter this time now he’s closer, “might I have a word?”

In his periphery, he thinks he hears Sugawara murmur a question, and a voice he thinks might be Kageyama’s from the timbre of it answer, before suddenly there’s a large, strong hand at his back that’s shoving him forwards.

He stumbles a few steps and whirls around to glare at whoever pushed him, only to find Kageyama making a little shooing motion with his hand. He’s smirking, looking oddly smug, _knowing_ , and Shouyou is immediately suspicious. By the mixture of confusion, and borderline shocked, expressions on their friends’ faces, Kageyama seems to be in the only in on the act.

Confused, Shouyou walks towards the man he recognises but does not know, and tilts his head in question at him. “Can I help you?”

“My name is Hibarida Fuki,” the man says, and every single nerve in Shouyou’s body goes numb as all at once he remembers a phone call from three years ago and who, _exactly,_ this man is. “And I’m the coach for the men’s national team.”

“He-hello,” Shouyou croaks out, and only just about remembers to bow.

Hibarida chuckles and waves a hand until Shouyou straightens again, and then he says a sentence that Shouyou has been waiting the better part of the last decade to hear:

“Hinata… your performance today was, in my opinion as long standing coach of this sport, nothing short of exceptional. I can’t classify this as anything _formal_ – there’s a surprising amount of paperwork involved - but I would very much like you to consider joining us for official practices when they start in a couple months’ time.”

There’s a long moment of silence before Shouyou remembers how to make his tongue work, even with the rest of his body feeling heavy and full of lead. “Practices?”

“Mmmm,” Hibarida hums, and his smile widens, warm and kind. “With the rest of the team. I’d have to draft up the paperwork, speak to some officials, plus your own manager, for the… _official_ invite, but, please, consider this my personal request to join the team.”

“The team?” Shouyou repeats again, feeling hopelessly like a parrot but unable to voice much more with his head stuffed with cotton. “The… _national_ team, sir?” There’s a buzz in his ears and a roar in his heart and he feels like he might just start to vibrate straight out of his skin. He wonders wildly if this what an out-of-body experience feels like, such is the disconnect from the rest of his body right now.

“The very same.”

Shouyou feels a wheeze blow out of his lungs and he turns slightly, until he can glance over his shoulder at the small crowd of people behind him, for something to ground him. It’s like every part of him is dreaming – like none of this is real and if he blinks too hard everything will fade away and he’ll be on the plane coming back from Brazil all over again.

His friends all look shocked, a sea of surprise and wonder, and the beginnings of smiles are starting to bloom on his senpais’ faces.

Well, all of them except Kageyama. He’s not smiling, not really, not full and bright like he had been before and all throughout the match. But there’s a definite tilt to the edges of his mouth, and a spark in his eye, and with his hands on his hips and the proud stance there’s something… _more_ than just the determined look on his face.

It’s satisfaction, Shouyou realises all at once.

Like the end of a good game, or the success of a new combo, or even just a good meal and a solid practice session – that’s how Kageyama looks when he is _satisfied_.

Kageyama stands there, solid and strong amongst all the shock around him, and raises a hand to make a little _‘well carry on’_ gesture with his hand.

And it’s like something _snaps_ inside of Shouyou and everything reboots up all at once. He spins back to face Hibarida, who is still smiling and being remarkably patient, considering Shouyou’s brain has taken leave of his body for the past ten minutes. Immediately, Shouyou reaches out and clasps Hibarida’s hand, which was already halfway extended towards him, and starts shaking it vigorously, babbling out his thanks in a blur of words.

Eventually, Hibarida pats his shoulder and chuckles, and has to tug his hand free gently to lift it up to halt another stream of gratitude that threatens to tumble from Shouyou’s lips. “I’ll be in touch. Congratulations Hinata,” he says, with a one final nod. And then with another tilt of his head in acknowledgement for Kageyama, he turns around and heads back down the hallway as though nothing special had just happened at all.

Shouyou hovers there in place, acutely aware of the growing buzz behind him as all of his friends slowly start to realise what just happened.

And then, as the buzz starts to grow into a gaggle of voices, he snaps into action and darts up to snatch Kageyama’s hand and tug. “Excuse us,” he says, breathlessly, to their excited and thoroughly bewildered friends, and then yanks Kageyama until he follows him.

“Hinata, what...” Kageyama is grumbling from behind, though he doesn’t tug his hand free, so Shouyou keeps going until they’ve rounded a corner away from their friends and former teammates and are in relative privacy.

He lets go of Kageyama’s hand and looks up into his friend’s confused (and slightly concerned) face, and has to take a few big, deep breaths before his lungs will expand enough to let him form words. “I just got invited to the national team,” he says, high and reedy and disbelieving. He still cannot grasp how he feels – and he doesn’t know whether it’s from exhaustion or shock or both, but it’s like he’s drifting, somewhere between the folds of reality.

Kageyama quirks an eyebrow at him. “I know…” he says slowly, “I was there.”

“You told me first,” Shouyou says, giddily, “so I had to tell you first. That’s only fair.”

He thinks, sort of, that Kageyama probably _knew_ from the moment he spotted Hibarida, and he’s aware that of all of Karasuno kind of know too, but he’s still telling Kageyama to his face first, so Shouyou still thinks it counts.

The confusion in Kageyama’s expression softens away and the corner of his mouth twitches until a smile blooms across his face and Shouyou feels a grin of his own start to rise to match it. Now he’s alone with Kageyama, he can feel joy start to spark, bright and encompassing, deep within him, yet still buried under a thick layer of disbelief.

“He invited _me_ , Kageyama…” he croaks out, feeling his throat tighten as emotion constricts it. He possibly sounds arrogant, he thinks distantly, but that’s not what he means. He just… he can’t believe this is real. That the coach of the _national team_ has just- “I’ve only played in one game…”

Perhaps it’s the tone of his voice, which sounds alien to even Shouyou’s own ears, but the smile on Kageyama’s face fades again as concern creeps back over his features and crumples his brow. “Well, of course he did. What else were you expecting? Isn’t this what you worked for?”

The question is so simply asked that from anyone else Shouyou would’ve given it an honest answer, but it’s not just anyone, it’s _Kageyama_ , and all of a sudden Shouyou is very aware that he’s shaking. Trembling from head to toe as emotion shakes him and rattles his nerves and leaves his lungs fluttering and his heartbeat skipping out of rhythm. He stands there, frozen and shaky, until he’s being gathered up and pressed against a strong chest.

It takes all of two seconds before Shouyou is returning the sudden hug with intense fierceness, winding his arms around Kageyama’s torso and gripping the back of his jersey in fistfuls. He sucks in deep breaths where he can with his face pressed close against Kageyama’s broad shoulder, as his friend holds him just as tight and runs one large palm down his back.

They stay like that, for a moment, until Kageyama is bending his head and pressing his lips against Shouyou’s temple and murmuring _“congratulations,”_ into his hair and then Shouyou’s breaths jump into jerky little things, shuddering in and out of his rattling lungs.

“You did _so well_ , of course they picked you, you idiot,” Kageyama is saying, voice close to Shouyou’s ear.

“I did?” Shouyou asks, voice quiet and tiny and nearly swallowed up by the fabric of Kageyama’s jersey.

“Did you not _see_ you?” Kageyama demands, and before Shouyou can give a smart reply that no, of course he couldn’t, his friend just starts ranting. “You did everything perfectly. Everything. And no-one on that court gave a shit about your height or how long you’d been professional, or any other stupid thing you might be worrying about.” There’s a pause, before, “you worked for this for _years_ , what else was going to happen?”

And it’s a good thing Kageyama’s grip on him is so strong, because at that moment Shouyou’s knees, usually steady and sure and never faltering, decide to go weak and if it wasn’t for the arms clasped around him he thinks he might’ve crumpled to the floor. He’s never, in the many years he’s known the man he’s wrapped around, heard praises like _that_. And it’s like they all gather under his skin and lift the veil of disbelief up and away, until he’s buzzing bright and sharp and so, _so_ ecstatically happy he cannot stop the spring of tears that leap to his eyes and soak white jersey fabric.

He lets himself shake and breathe a few beats more against Kageyama, until the joy finally warms him up enough that his knees can stand again and then he’s lifting his face up and away from the jersey and rising up on his toes.

Kissing Kageyama is not new.

He releases his hands from the back of Kageyama’s jersey to slide them into his hair and pull him closer, and he feels two large hands settle at the small of his back and pull him in in kind. The kiss is long, sweet and slow, and so wonderfully familiar that Shouyou feels a bubble of helpless laughter rise up through him.

They’ve done this before. Before graduation and before Brazil, but all those times felt like… snatches. Like they were sneaking a peek at something that would have to come later, once the work was done.

Perhaps later is now.

He leans back just enough so that he can beam fully at Kageyama, as happiness like he’s never known it grabs at his cheeks and pulls them wide, singing through him sharp and wonderful. He feels Kageyama’s hands slip up his sides to cradle his face, and then two thumbs are sweeping away the dampness that’s still on his cheeks.

“You can’t do that, everyone will know you’ve been blubbing,” Kageyama says, diplomatically, but he’s smiling just as wide.

“It’s the sweat. Salt in my eyes,” Shouyou says, voice wobbly, and he starts to laugh uncontrollably as Kageyama swoops in with a hum and kisses his forehead and lets more tears stream down his face for as long as he likes.

* * *

It’s a month or so later, when Kageyama is visiting him this time, that his partner (boyfriend, he supposes, these days) stands at his door holding a box.

“I think this came for you?” He says, lifting it up with a strange expression, and Shouyou hums his intrigue before he spots the logos on the side.

“… Oh,” he says, eloquently, and then Kageyama is shooting him a wicked grin and shooing him into the flat so they can rip open the box.

Pulling the jersey over his head takes more thought than it really ought to, but nerves and excitement have sent his coordination into meltdown, and when he finally pops his head through the neck hole, he’s so flustered he’s almost forgotten just what he’s put on.

He stares down at himself with something akin to awe, at the red that swaddles him, and it’s almost like being fifteen all over again and pulling on a black and orange jersey emblazoned with the number ten once more.

“Turn around,” Kageyama commands, and he spins, twirls in a little circle before his boyfriend steps up close and runs a hand across his shoulder blades. He can feel Kageyama’s fingers trace the letters of his name across the back and the thought of it sends a thrill shooting up his spine so strong it’s a wonder he doesn’t leap into the air right there.

Kageyama swoops his hands across his torso, smoothing out the creases and ensuring the fabric sits neat against his skin, before he nods once, decisively. “It suits you,” he says, earnestly.

Shouyou feels a grin burst across his face so wide his cheeks ache and he shudders in place for a moment, before he lets his joy send him shooting upwards until Kageyama catching him in his arms and burying his face in his neck. “I’m standing on the same stage now, Kageyama,” he declares, all the disbelief finally gone from his voice, and he feels two strong arms cling to him just a bit tighter.

“Good. I was waiting,” is the simple reply.

Shouyou presses his face into Kageyama’s hair with a beaming smile and lets himself dangle in Kageyama’s arms as his boyfriend’s hands cling to the red fabric of the jersey that he’s finally, _finally_ earned.

**Author's Note:**

> if you would like to scream about haikyuu, i'm over on twitter @Emlee_J


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